Shop of Horrors
by Da Vinci at Work
Summary: A ravenous werewolf, a ruthless human psychic, and an irritatingly optimistic elvin princess attempting to escape from her happily ever after. What do they have in common, you say? Well, I tell you, they're stuck in the Shop of Horrors, with no way out.
1. Psychic Freak

**

* * *

**

Shop of Horrors

By Da Vinci at Work

* * *

_Summary: A ravenous werewolf, a pitiless human psychic, and an optimistic elvin princess. What do they have in common, you say? Well, I tell you, they're stuck in the Shop of Horrors, with no way out.

* * *

_

**Chapter 1: Psychic Freak**

I sat in class, unable to contain my utter boredom as Mr. Kelcotta lectured on and on and on about the "climactic" advantages of stone tools for early prehistoric hominids. As far as I am concerned, I learn more from the Flintstones than Mr. Kelcotta's monotonous speeches on prehistoric human life.

"Stone tools were very advantageous for prehistoric humans...yadddy yaddy ya...I like stone tools...blah blah blah..."

You get the drift, right? (Haha. I wasn't paying attention.)

As I sat slumped in my plastic graffiti-collaged chair and wrested my arms on the equally ornamented desk, I slid down farther and farther into the dreamy abysses of slumber. With the working of His Almighty Greatness, I managed to keep awake, toying with my pen, doodling in my notebook, and even geometrically calculating the amount of freakin' ceiling tiles, all sixty-three and a third of them to be exact.

It was all in a pitiable attempt to pass the time until history class was over. Sucked for me, after forty or so minutes of Mr. Kelcotta's nonstop suspenseful action, the bell still did not ring. The clock ticked away, torturing me with each painfully sluggish second that edged by. Amidst my crazy ennui, an unexpected foresight entered my paranoid mind.

_Mr. Kelcotta's going to get into a car accident today._

"Mr. K," I said as my hand shot up into the air like those nerdy geeks who usually sat erect in the front of the classroom, jotting down notes as Mr. K. droned on. Anyhow, I was one hundred and five percent certain of Mr. Kelcotta's unfortunate predicament.

After all, all my predictions so far have come true, tragically though I must add.

Mr. Kelcotta appeared quite irritated by my sudden interruption, for I was never a participant in his stupid class. Who would need to? I learned more about social studies in elementary school than in his class.

"What is it, Vincent Dale?" he said gruffly, his walrus mustache bobbing up and down in the process. The man's head was almost as shiny as a polished light bulb, perhaps even shinier.

"What is it, Vincent Dale?" he repeated, probably considering that I never paid much attention in his dim-witted class. I still managed an average of one hundred percent anyways.

"What is it, _Vincent Dale_?" he repeated for the magically inclined third time.

I grimaced at the mention of my full name, first and last. "It's Vince, Mr. K., Vince."

"Very well, then. What is it? Why are you disrupting me in the middle of a very important lesson?" His tone was crotchety; I could picture him as the giant erect walking, talking walrus from Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Disney probably met with this guy before designing the cartoon character. Haha.

I attempted to burn holes with my laser beam eyes at the flabby, elderly man, whose rectangular spectacles were sliding off of his prominent, beet-red nose, a few millimeters at a time.

Come on. Seriously.

I was attempting to save his big fat ass when all he was doing was bashing me with his eyes and his mouth.

Don't you think I would be a little pissed?

Opportunely enough, the bell rang. Everyone rushed out of the classroom, pleased to have escaped from the tedious history teacher, and an extra homework assignment at that.

I waited as patiently as someone so short-tempered as me would allow for the other students to exit the unheated room.

"Mr. Kelcotta," I said, without batting an eye, "be careful when you drive today. Something bad might just happen." With that out of my system, I grabbed my outrageously heavy binder and walked straight out of the classroom, happy like all my other asinine peers to escape from the prison grounds known publicly as Lincoln High School.

* * *

After plopping my sorry butt down on the leather couch with a bag of fat-inducing chips at my side, (haha, I sound like a dieting girl), I turned on the television. Flipping randomly through the usually sleep-inducing channels, something caught my eye, which rarely happened.

"It appears that a terrible car accident has blocked out Route ninety-eight today," the channel's reporter stated in her mechanical and gaudy 'I-am-a-reporter-and-you-are-not' voice. She was standing directly in front of a car accident scene. "Just moments before, as you can very well see, a small green Mazda Protégé slammed headfirst into a large passing truck. Thankfully, no one has died, though the owner of the small vehicle has been sent to a local hospital due to a few minor injuries."

Taking the remote, I turned off the television and headed for the kitchen. Opening the freezer, I grabbed a frozen pizza and jammed it into the semi-rusted microwave.

I watched as the cheese on the pizza began its melting process. I suppose, at that moment, a sudden thought managed to pop itself into my normally dormant brain.

Hm, didn't Mr. Kelcotta drive a green Mazda Protégé? (So sue me for knowing my teacher's car.)

* * *

... 

Surely enough, the following day, a substitute came in place for our most beloved (haha, sarcasm right there) social studies professor, Mr. Kelcotta.

Tch.

Did I not tell you?

My predictions _always_ come true.

* * *

Author's Note: The plot just came to me the other day while I was surfing the web. It was like BAM! And my idea just came. Talk about overactive imaginations. Anyhow, I decided to stick this one under fairy tales, though I think it barely crosses the threshold of fairy tale stories. Anyhoot, hopefully you will enjoy this one.

This first chapter is kind of short. Scratch that. It is extremely short, but I hope, if you have read this, you do review. I'm not certain if I'm going to continue this one. Just remember to click the button on your lower left hand corner, and type in your opinions of this chapter. Kudos!


	2. The Boy who Unfortunately Lived

**

* * *

**

Shop of Horrors

By Da Vinci at Work

* * *

_Didn't I tell you?_

_My predictions always come true…

* * *

_

**Chapter 2: The Boy who Unfortunately Lived**

Wow, your exceptionally intellectual nugget (located directly in the core of your tremendously thick skull) must be contemplating at this pathetic point in the fourth dimension, also known apparently as time. How, on this small and insignificantly blue and green planet, did Vincent Dale become a seer, a psychic, a fortune teller, a clairvoyant?

Aren't psychics or fortune tellers or whatever-they're-allegedly-known-as those elderly Gypsy ladies who toy around with faux crystal balls and paper tarot cards all day?

Don't they just sit around at home like potato-couched hermits and wait until some astoundingly stupid individual falls for their "accurate two dollar palm readings"?

Well, too bad, because, hell, do I look like a freakin' old lady to you?

I think not.

Let me explain, not that you actually give a crap, but heck, I have time on my hands.

So…It all began on a beautiful and tranquil November evening-

Wait.

What?

No!

For God's sake, I AM NOT AN ENGLISH POET!

Anyhow, I plan on keeping this short and simple, no fluff, no anything. A few words on my part will suffice. You need not know anything more about me, Sherlock Holmes. Period.

Tragically, I must add, that I am an orphan. I have been an orphan for the past sixteen years of my wretched existence. Sixteen long and cumbersome years I've lived without a mother's tender love or a father's affectionate care. I've gotten used to it.

Heck.

I'd gotten used to it the day I was born that stupid November evening. I was, as the people of the orphanage had whispered "behind my back", the sinful consequence of a young and foolish woman and her illegitimate lover. It's not that they died or anything; it's just that my alleged mother threw me away at the orphanage. She certainly didn't want a bastard ruining her reputation. No, siree.

And please.

I do not desire or necessitate your sympathy.

I beg of you.

Anything _but_ your sympathy will do. Even hatred.

And yes, I remember every cracked up moment of my life, since the day I was left at the steps of that drearily rundown orphanage.

I was born with my psychic ability, you see. Who wouldn't be, when their IQ is far superior to that of the considerably intellectual human being?

Yes, that's right.

My IQ measures over one hundred eighty; that's why I am in the twelfth grade on a full scholarship, not the tenth like all my deplorable, pea-brained peers are. Brainless and foolhardy as they are.

Enough about me. I see that you are already getting quite bored of me, and perhaps even more bored than you were of Mr. Kelcotta. Haha. Now that's going to take some amount of skill.

Yes, I am the most disheartening thing on this inconsequential blue and green planet. I have already been acquainted with that fact long before anyone will have pointed it out to me. I am not as dim-witted as you believe.

* * *

Let's all get back on track here.

I'm a freak, a whack, a weirdo, a "Mommy-look-he-is-scary" loser. No wonder my mother decided to trash me and run. So now, I'm stuck working as an assistant at a stupid government place. The municipal building, they called it…

But then, I could probably become a star, a celebrity, an idol, working at a circus where grotesque clowns with low wages make a living off of juggling plastic colored balls. Imagine it: THE FREAK SHOW FROM THE ENDS OF THE UNIVERSE. Hah! I would be the finale single-handedly: PSYCHIC MORON ON A UNICYCLE…

I must be digressing again. I've been doing that often, now that I actually think about it. Perhaps it's because I want to avoid the main issue at hand. I've been evading, escaping, dodging, and forestalling all my life. I don't know what it is, but I think something is wrong with me.

Ha.

Like that wasn't made apparent already.

I feel so exhausted, so very exhausted and out of my years.

Oh, and did I mention that it's Halloween? Haha. I'm skipping around on topics and issues again.

It's been such a long time since I've gone trick-or-treating. Eight years, to be exact. The last time I went, a giant talking panda freakin' scared the piss out of me. And yes, I was eight at the time.

What eight-year-old in his right mind wouldn't be frightened out of his skin when a giant furry panda walks up to him and starts hugging him until his lungs are half-damaged? And not to say that the panda just, out of nowhere, starts to talk to you as if you're his best pal in the entire solar system. That is just downright uncanny. Everyone knows that animals, other than vicious humans, aren't supposed to speak English, especially giant pandas from the raccoon family.

I've had nightmares for over a year because of that stupid panda bear. I suppose I have developed some sort of gianttalkingpandaphobia afterwards.

Anyhow, this year, I am determined to go trick-or-treating. After all, I have nothing better to do with my measly, oblique life. And, certainly, no friggin' giant English-fluent panda will deter my plans. I solemnly swear. Seriously.

This year, I hereby declare, will be the best year of my pitiable life.

Oh, and I must remind you yet again, I am, as a psychic and a self-proclaimed genius, always right.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Do you like it so far?

Have any questions?

Concerns?

Anyhow, just remember to review.

It really helps, you know. Oh, and at this moment, I must advertise. Haha, salesman. I have a story on FictionPress called **Changing his Status Quo**. My friend and I are in competition to see who will get the most reviews for our stories on FictionPress. Read it. And review. So far, I have 132 reviews and my friend has 149. She has eight chapters, and I have six. Anyhow, here is the link, just take out the spaces. _h t t p / w w w . f i c t i o n p r e s s . c o m / d a v i n c i a t w o r k_

KUDOS TO EVERYONE!


	3. Shop of Horrors

**

* * *

**

Shop of Horrors

By Da Vinci at Work

* * *

_This year, I hereby declare, will be the best year of my pitiable life._

_Oh, and I must remind you yet again, I am, as a psychic and a self-proclaimed genius, always right…

* * *

_

**Chapter 3: Shop of Horrors**

I walked indolently down the streets and avenues and boulevards of our pathetically infinitesimal town. I was alone, as I have always been, but armed with a colossal pillowcase a quarter of the way filled with candy.

Childish, teeth-rotting, fat-inducing candy.

Haha.

I sound like my little wannabe prep sister: "Like, I am, like, so not, like, going, like, trick-or-treating. That's so, like, babyish; I'm not, like, going, to like, purposefully, like, gain weight, stupid."

Haha. I have never heard more "like's" used in a fluent paragraph. The comedy of the century. Or better, the Guinness Book of World Records.

My sister is a freak, just like me if you have not yet noticed, except in a socially-inclined sort of way. And she calls me stupid. Haha. What a total whore brat.

Psht. And she thinks I actually worry about Halloween.

I just have nothing better to do with my life, that's all; I might as well waste my idle time and do what other pedestrian people consider fun and merry and pleasureful, which, by the way, is not a term to be found in the modern English language, though, in my opinion, which has always been very headstrong, pleasureful should be in the dictionary. Accursed dictionary-makers with no creativity whatsoever to be found.

I gazed up at the sky as I continued to walk through the dimly lit streets and alleyways.

(How very sentimental and schmaltzy.)

Anyhow, I discovered, upon tilting my head upwards at an almost ninety degree angle, that the full moon was out, an eerily perfect round sphere hanging languidly above in the darkened nighttime skies.

A typical October evening, I would say.

The streets were lined with ghostly-decorated antique stores and coffee shops as far as the eye could see. It was the epitome of a small-town Halloween gala. One shop was even bold enough to showcase jars of dissected amphibians and dead tarantulas; bet they frightened off ninety-percent of their potential consumers.

As I was striding past one of these so-called antique shops, in my black gothic Punk costume, with ersatz lip, ear, and nose rings on, something quite intriguing caught my black mascara-applied eyes, along with my fully dedicated attention.

"Shop of Horrors," a dilapidated sign read atop one of the numerous fake downtown bazaars, as most people from Millings referred to them. It was handwritten, as far as I could tell in the jarringly orange streetlights; scrawled in a dauntingly beautiful calligraphy, I must certainly add. The letters blared as red as trickling blood against the semi-rotted wooden plank it was painted upon.

Shop of Horrors.

Now that was quite a new change.

Shop of Horrors.

Hm.

I liked it.

It had an engrossing and macabre chime to it.

Quite unique and original, if I must add, haha, yet again.

It was not just the boring old "Antique Shop" or "Halloween Wholesale" or some other completely redundant and archetypical identity.

It was _the_ Shop of Horrors, and that was that.

I was quite in a merry mood at that time, well, as merry as I could possibly be, contemplating these random and arbitrary thoughts of mine, that, curiosity overruled the likes of my common sense, and I resolved to push the creaking door open and walk in for a peak.

My, oh my, did I make the biggest, stupidest, must gullible, and perhaps only, mistake in my entire sixteen years of death-defying existence…

As I entered the shop, the miniature bell atop the old and pealing wooden door jingled.

_Tinga-linga-ling_, it rang, even though it was terribly rusted and tarnished with old age.

More than anything else, I found the cacophony it created beyond the realms of irritation and annoyance.

I didn't need my presence acknowledged to the whole entire universe, you know?

Well, being in an artificial Halloween/antique shop and all. It's not like I was a kleptomaniac.

Taking my mind off of the worthless thoughts that sifted through my semi-dormant brain, I decided to explore the desolate shop.

Odd gadgets and gizmos lined the worn-out shelves. A light flickered above, on and off, on and off, as if some ethereal being was haunting the place.

Ha.

As if I would believe that. I looked at the cashier counter, which seemed to be covered in genuine cobwebs; no one, it seemed, was there. That was fairly outlandish. I mean, normal people wouldn't leave an opened shop if they were not there to guard it like hoard dragons.

It's like breaking one of the seven sins; in this case, it would be greed.

Human greed, to be exact.

I walked around, staring at some of the most unusual objects. A crystal ball sat latent atop one of the countless narrow shelves. Mist seemed to swirl within the globe.

I was quite impressed. Props aren't so imaginative nowadays. All plastic and phony-looking as they usually appear, even though the prices are beyond the realms of acceptability.

Psht. Everything is imported nowadays, even the vegetables and fruits you buy at supermarkets and whatnot.

I continued to scan the shelves, having gotten quite sick of begging pathetic people for cheap and inexpensive candy. The more I looked, the more astounding the props became. There were narrow mailing packages stamped with the words "Magic Wand made with Unicorn Hair" and supposedly "talking" Jack-in-the-boxes, and I even discovered a sword at the lowest point of one of the shelving units that said, "used by King Arthur." The odd thing was that everything I scrutinized appeared quite bona fide; not prop-like at all.

Baffling indeed.

So, it was in this manner that I continued to meander through the alleged Shop of Horrors, searching and pondering, searching and pondering. My semi-latent mind was put to its analytical use in this strange and anomalous manner.

Perhaps an hour passed by in this behavior, or maybe even more. I did not care, and I also did not remember; for I, unlike most of the rich folk living in Millings, did not own a watch, especially not a Rolex one where every gear and shaft is authentic.

Time seemed to freeze, literally and figuratively speaking, as I ambled through the queer and curiosity-bringing antique shop. I became so engrossed in the peculiar thingamajigs and thingamabobs, whatever you desire to call them, that it was long before I discovered one of my most asinine errors.

I looked around the shop, but I could not find the door with the rusty little bell atop its semi-deceased hinges. I was lost in a row of mazes, whichever occurred to me as the narrow shelving units. I tried to walk in one direction, but it ended in a dead end. That was odd. Usually shops did not attempt to get their customers lost. As far as I could tell, the shop was defying the laws of physics. As I kept on walking, the shelves just continued to stretch on. It seemed as though the place was expanding as I walked, which, as my science and math teachers had told me, was literally quite unfeasible.

Who ever got trapped in a vast maze of shelves in a friggin' antique shop?

God damnit.

I must be the stupidest bastard on the surface of planet Earth.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I was expecting much more than thirteen reviews. Thirteen for _two_ chapters. What has this world come to? I see like 100 hits, but out of that one hundred, thirteen review. THIRTEEN. That's really bad, for me. I mean, on FictionPress, I have a decent amount of reviews. (138 for six chapters so far.) It's not like I'm inconsistent with my works. I'm not_ that _horrible of a writer. Okay, fine. Just remember to review. I mean, come on. If you are going to read the thing, you might as well spend thirty seconds of your life reviewing it. Encourage the author, or perhaps even give some constructive criticism. (No flames.) It makes the author happy when they see, in their email, an alert for a new review. I go ecstatic, don't know about you. Just please, take thirty seconds of your life to click that little button on your bottom left hand corner and review. Greatly appreciated.

Now…here are the people who reviewed the first chapter. YOU DO NOT KNOW HOW MUCH I APPRECIATE IT! (People in italics reviewed anonymously.):

**_Cocoa Latte_:** I tried to keep the first chapter sort of vague. That way, it grows on you, like a character. Anyhoot, thanks for reviewing!

**_meeeeeeeeeeee_:** Haha. Love your anonymous pseudonym. I lost count of the e's so I had to copy and paste. Heh heh. I thought you would like the other story better. That one was a totally different genre. (Romance, cough, cough.) I think this plot is more original than Changing his Status Quo, though.

**Scoutcraft Piratess:** You are right. All of the other fairy tales on FanFiction are so "damsel in distressy." Meh. That's not a word. When I wrote the story, I wanted Vince to be a very frank and to-the-point character. Yes, I agree, he does seem quite arrogant, but I think this will turn out to be something of a coming-of-age story. Thanks for reviewing.

**_randomperson_:** Haha. I thought you would like this story better, my friend. You never were into teen fiction, being all Goth-obsessed as you are. Haha. Vince is cool, isn't he:P

**enterprisealien:** I was going for funny, dark humor, as some call it. Glad you liked it. Oh, and thanks a million for reviewing. I truly appreciate it.

**_rosh_:** The first chapter was quite short. (I need to improve on that.) Glad you liked it, though.

Now here are those who reviewed the second chapter. KUDOS TO EVERYONE! (Again, names in italics reviewed anonymously.):

**Scoutcraft Piratess:** You don't like Vince? Ah. Oh well, this is going to be a sort of fairy tale coming-of-age story. Thanks for reviewing. I LOVE REVIEWS! Haha.

**Jumping Bean: **Big vocabulary words are awesome. Smiles. Thanks for liking my story. (Hands out imaginary cookie.)

**_meokat_:** Haha. Glad you continued reading. I like basing my characters off of real people. A little bit of reality into everything. Except, I think this guy is sort of based off of me, except, for one thing, I am not a guy. Haha. Wonder what else I could be…Hahaha.

**_Cocoa Latte_:** Ja. (That's German, if you didn't know.) Second chapter was basically fluff. FLUFF…BUNNIES! Okay. I'm done.

**_randomperson_:** Again, second chapter was basically fluff. Keep reading though, hope you liked this chapter. :D

**enterprisealien:** GIANT TALKING PANDAS! You know, the thought just popped into my mind, like WHAM! Vince, the protagonist, is not afraid of impractical things, but GIANT TALKING PANDAS...Haha…Yeah…

**_rosh_:** Main point? Haha. You know, not all chapters deal with the plot. Some are just fluff. (Cough, cough, chapter two, cough.) Haha. Thanks for continuing reading though. LOVE THE REVIEWS!

I thank those of you who reviewed. Bows. THANK YOU a gazillion! Oh, and don't forget to review this chapter either, after all my ranting and everything. Ger, or else, I'll make an even longer Author's Note. Haha. REVIEW!


	4. The Werewolf

**

* * *

**

Shop of Horrors

By Da Vinci at Work

* * *

_Who ever got trapped in a vast maze of shelves in a friggin' antique shop? _

_God damnit. _

_I must be the stupidest bastard on the surface of planet Earth.

* * *

_

**Chapter 4: The Werewolf **

It wasn't until later that I discovered something quite very deplorable about the shop: I wasn't the only idiot trapped within its science-defying boundaries. It was quite an oddity to begin with, being ensnared within a maze of shelves and all. I mean, seriously, what buffoon gets himself shut in an ersatz antique shop?

Well, apparently as it was, planet Earth is becoming quite densely populated with retards of every walk of life.

So I was running around, quite frantically by then. I was getting desperate, something that happens every millennium or so. I was turning a corner…and…BAM! I bumped into this stupid person. Upon further scrutiny, I realized that this "person" was covered from head to "claws" in fur.

"Nice costume," I said. The usually grim lines of my mouth were starting to curve upward. I wasn't lying. The costume did indeed appear astounding; if it wasn't for Halloween, I would have that the kid was seriously a werewolf. Anyhow, the person's eyes immediately darkened upon hearing my compliment, which was quite astounding considering that his so called eyes were already pitch black.

"It's not a costume," he replied. It almost sounded like a growl. Grrr. Could have fooled me. Haha.

I was having quite a fascinating time teasing the poor fool. That is, until I realized that the werewolf costume was indeed the real thing. I was talking to the kid, getting him aggravated and all. Then, out of the middle of nowhere, I had this sudden urge to pull his mask off. Without as much as a word, I tugged at his ears, which was about the level of my chest. That would be considerably tall, taking into thought that I was well over six feet in height.

Uh oh, I thought, as I realized that the mask wouldn't come off.

"What the Hell are you doing, you bastard?" the _thing_ growled.

Something flashed into my mind at that instant.

_The thing standing before me is a werewolf. A real werewolf. Not a kid. A werewolf._

"You're a werewolf?" I asked, more curious than frightened as always.

As I say, curiosity is the fall of man.

I suppose the _thing_ took pride in this. It puffed out its barbaric chest and said, "Of course I am, genius. Why else would the stupid Red Riding Hood mistake me for her old granny?"

Tch. Talk about exaggeration.

"Wasn't that a wolf, not a werewolf?" I asked, not believing a single word it said.

"Where'd you get that idea from?" it questioned. The thing's ears were twitching.

"Ask the Brothers Grimm."

"Who in the world are they?" it asked.

"Dead fairytale collectors."

"Fairytales smearytales. Who gives a damn? They fucked up the information. I'm a werewolf, see?" it said, as it transformed into a rendering of Red Riding Hood's grandmother.

"So you don't have a human form?" I asked.

"I'm like one of those shadow things that are stuck in closets. Boogey monsters, I think they're called. I change whenever wherever I want. No designated form except for this."

The old granny snapped her fingers and KABAM! The granny/werewolf turned back into its original form.

"Awesome," I said.

You know, if some normal person were in my place, I bet they would be scared out of their pants by this werewolf.

Nope. Not me.

This was awesome. How often do you get to see a mythical creature come to life right in front of your face?

"How'd you get in here?" I asked.

"Dunno. One moment I was dreaming about sucking the blood out of little Red, and the next, KABLAM! I'm teleported to this weird place in the middle of Nowheresville." It licked its paws, revealing rows of jagged, yellow fangs, along with a pair of dangerously sharp claws. "Speaking of blood," it continued in its precarious tone, "I'm quite hungry. Human flesh is certainly tasty." A glint came into the werewolf's yellow eyes as it stared penetratingly at me.

"No thanks," I said, cackling in the midst. "If you want to get out of this God damned place, don't you dare lay a finger on me. You're not the only one who can kill, you know." A maniacal smile crossed my contorted countenance. For a fleeting moment, the creature seemed to be terrified. It passed in a millisecond. For that one passing moment, its yellow eyes widened. It happened so very quickly that if it wasn't for my very observant eyes, I would not have caught it. This time, my grin deepened, and perhaps a glint came into _my_ eyes. I wasn't going to die at the hands of a stupid mythical being. No Siree. I'd rather die murdering my idiotic sister than being eaten. It helps with the image. Haha. An assassin.

I continued to converse with the werewolf, who seemed to be quite an aggressive fellow. I liked that. It makes for an intriguing personality. Rough around the edges.

So it was, I questioned and it answered. We continued to walk, passing shelves of the oddest inventions of humanity. There were soul-catchers and love potions (who in the world needs that?).

We walked on for perhaps hours. I did not know, mainly because I did not have a watch. Haha. Talk about tech-less.

"What's your name?" I asked in the middle of the conversation.

"Big Bad Wolf, what else did ya think it'd be?" it growled through clenched fangs.

"Big's your first name?"

"No, idiot, Bad is," the werewolf retorted, cackling like the wild animal he was.

Didn't I tell you? He makes for a fascinating character.

* * *

Author's Note: Sigh. Eight reviews again. Blehtimzheimer. (Not a word.) The author alerts and review alerts and all the other alerts aren't working for FictionPress or FanFiction? GAH!

Gah. This is a short chapter. I have to work on that.

Anyhow, here are my review responses. Thanks for reviewing!

**i'm BAAAACK! Guess who?:** You like? That's good. (Pst. Make an account on FanFiction. Haha.) Well, that chapter was quite eventful, sort of. I had fun writing it.

**Scoutcraft Piratess: **Sole characterization gets bleh after a while. I just wanted you to meet the main character, who is basically like dead in an emotion-wise way. Haha. I like creepy main characters. They are awesome!

**Cocoa Latte: **Well, here is one of the other main characters. One more to go. :D

**Jumping Bean: **Glad you like this. Love the support peoples!

**rosh: **Haha. I like fluff.

**Gremlin15: **Vince seems shallow? Okay. Let's go with that. Haha. Hmm. Vince. I want my protagonist to be the ultimate creep who isn't afraid of anything, including death. I want him to seem completely emotionless and basically bloodcurdling. You know, for some reason, I find this story more fun to write than Changing his Status Quo. (Don't worry! I will stick with these stories to the end.) I guess romance isn't exactly my type of genre. I like it when the hero and heroine fight. That's the fascinating part, when their ripping each other up like lions. But when they get together and make-out…EWWWWWW!!!!!!!!! It just pisses me off to see the heroine not keep to her word. "I don't want to fall in love," psht. Liar. It pisses me off when the girls are so wimpy (feministic views coming on). If all girls who end up happily ever after are wimps and loners, what's the point of the ones who work their butt off to at least touch the boundaries of perfection and try the best in everything they're given? (I don't go all "OH MY GOD HE'S HOT!" over guys. Too gross and adulterated for me. EW!!! Cough cough, thirteen. Not for me.) Wow. This was a long rant. Well, I'm glad you took your time to check out Shop of Horrors. (Ninety-five percent of the other people on FictionPress who read my story don't care.) I thank you with all my brain! Haha.

**enterprisealien: **I am glad you liked this! I was so going for the dark humor thing. It's more fun that way. :D (Pst. Thanks for reviewing!)

**Promiscuous Misprocuous:** Thanks for reviewing. I was getting kind of bored of the whole princess fairytale thing (no offense). Some of them are actually quite astounding, but it gets kind of dull. I got kind of tired writing my "romance" story on FictionPress, so I decided, hey, I want to make something scary. Haha. Well, thanks for reviewing.

Well, sadly enough, those are the few people who reviewed. (I am indebted to you.) Mind taking your time to review? "I LOVE YOU!" or "YOUR STORY KICKS BUTT!" would be splendiferous. (WHOA! THAT'S A WORD! SPLENDIFEROUS!)

**REVIEW…OR ELSE…(hint, hint: this might not be an empty threat…)**


End file.
